Waiting For Him
by eyesvacant
Summary: It's been five years since Sandy has seen or heard from her first love, Sodapop Curtis. But when she decides to write him a letter and she actually gets a reply, will the outcome be good or bad? (Told from Sandy's point of view. Rated T for language and content in later chapters. Reviews are very much appreciated!)
1. Chapter 1

I am an emotional drunk. I think of all the mistakes I've made in my life. Getting pregnant so early, leaving Tulsa, getting an abortion, never telling Sodapop. I think of all these things and I cry. I sob violently until I end up passing out somewhere. Whether it be on the bathroom floor or the couch, I wake up the next morning with a pulsing headache.

It's started out when I got pregnant. I was seventeen. It was the fourth time Soda and I had sex. I never thought it would happen to me. We never used anything. We never talked about it. It wouldn't happen to us. It would only happen to those poor people we saw at the mall, buying baby supplies and sulking. Sometimes, I'd see girls break down right there in the middle of the store, crumpling into her boyfriend's arms, if she was lucky enough to have her boyfriend still there.

It's his. No matter what anyone says, I know it's his. I only told him that it wasn't his. I didn't want him to be tied to me like that. I didn't want him stuck to me. I knew he loved me, and he would stay, but it would get to be too much. I didn't want him to feel obligated to stay with me only because we had a child together.

I couldn't deal with seeing him every day. Seeing a part of him in that child, a constant reminder of what I could have had, what I left in Tulsa. I got rid of it. I had an abortion.

It's been five years. I think about all of these things and I drink more, which is never a good idea in any situation.

Last night, it got worse than it's ever been. I grab a postcard and let all of these thoughts and confessions spill out of me, ink to paper.

And I address it to Sodapop Curtis.

I wake up the next morning, curled up into the fetal position on my bathroom floor. A bottle of Jack Daniels clenched in my hand. I try to move but I'm sore all over from sleeping on tile. It takes me a few moments to get up, wincing as the pain shoots up my joints.

I moved out of my Grandmother's house two years ago, when I was twenty. I haven't talked to my parents at all since I moved to Florida. I've lived in a small one bedroom one bathroom apartment ever since. It's not much, but it works.

Sometimes I wonder how things would have turned out if I had stayed with Sodapop. I would be home in Tulsa, with our five year old child, married, maybe with another child on the way. I would be happy, unlike I am now. I wonder if he's happy. I hope he's happy.

I get into the shower, the warm water washing off the film of sweat clinging to my skin. I step out after washing my hair, drying myself off quickly. I look into the mirror. My eyes used to be so blue, now they've dulled to a light blue-grey. Dark circles stain my eye sockets. I'm a lot skinnier than I used to be, but not in a good way. There's nothing to me. Even when I stand up, my hipbones protrude like daggers. I throw on a pair of grey shorts and an old high school t-shirt that practically hangs off of me.

Stepping out into the kitchen, I pick up a box of crackers from off of the counter. I sit down at the small fold up table that I've never bothered to replace, and try to eat. I eat about four crackers and drink half of a glass of water before I feel so full I might explode, but I make myself eat more. I need to eat more. I need to eat. I won't waste away. Tears sting at my eyes.

The fact that I'm getting emotional over eating makes me even more emotional. I am a wreck. I stare down at the table, my tears _ting_-ing softly on the cold metal table. I pull at my hair, biting my lip, trying to hold back the tears.

I look up, trying to find something to distract myself with. I see a postcard sitting at the opposite end of the table. I begin to remember. I wrote a letter to Sodapop last night. I spilled my heart onto this tiny slip of paper.

"You can change things, Sandy," I say to myself, the sound of my own voice making me jump. But what if it backfires? What if he's angry about it? I only have his old address, it may not even get to him.

I decide to leave the house for the first time in weeks, putting on a pair of slippers and walking to the end of the street to send off the letter.

You don't have anything to lose when you don't have anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

I have been checking the mail every day for the past two weeks. The neighbors have begun to stare. They've never seen me leave the house this often. I catch a little kid looking out of his window at me, pointing at me and gesturing to what must be his little sister as I walk down the street. I raise my middle finger to him, a smirk spreading across my face. I continue on my journey.

I regret that I sent that letter, but a small part of me is excited. Excited to see if he'll reply. Excited to see if he feels the same way. But how do I even feel about him? If I saw him, what would I do? I wouldn't know whether to hit him or to hit myself.

I put my key in the mail box, taking a deep breath before opening it. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. My stomach drops just as it has every day for the past two weeks. Just as I suspected, there is nothing in the mail box.

I begin thinking, my mind begins racing. He loved me. He still might be head over heels for me, right? Maybe not. Maybe he learned to get over me.

He loves her, whoever she is.

Sodapop Curtis most likely has a life now. He's married and he has children and he's happy wherever he is. I shouldn't be messing with that. Who am I to randomly come into his life? I'm just a bitter old bitch who's living in the past.

I look down at my slippers. The fact that I actually had to drag myself out of bed this morning only to check my mail box that will forever remain empty of my first love's letters is pathetic and disgusting.

I turn around and make my way back to my house, crawling back between the sheets of my sanctuary.

The next few days are a haze of drinking and trying to forget. I wake up at odd times in the night, mostly sleeping during the day.

I wake up one day in particular, finally at an appropriate time. The clock says nine twenty three. This is when normal people get up, Sandy. Get up. I push myself up off of what seems to be the kitchen floor. I haven't showered in days. I am clad in my bathrobe, my greasy blonde hair pinned up loosely in a bun on top of my head. I pick at a zit on my face.

I open the curtains on the only window in my apartment. It's the mail man, driving away. My stomach falls and I groan in disgust. I close the drapes and turn away, my hands raised up defensively. No. I am not waisting my time on that.

But something makes me turn around, I open the curtains again.

"Shit," I say, the word sharp coming out of my mouth, "Shit."

I put on my slippers.

It's the longest walk I've ever taken in my life. I'm dreading it, what I'll find. Nothing. There will be nothing just like there has been for the past three weeks.

The key turns in slow motion.

And there is one single small postcard placed perfectly in the middle of my mailbox.

A small noise escapes the back of my throat. I catch myself, both hands planted steadily on the mailbox. I grab the postcard quickly, as if it might disappear if I wait any longer. My hands are shaking.

I look at the front of it first. _Greetings from Tulsa, Oklahoma! _the postcard exclaims, with a large outline of my home state. My hands are shaking so violently now that I nearly drop the postcard. I take a deep breath.

On the back of the post card are two words.

_Visit me._

Below that is an address.


	3. Chapter 3

**(Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites! It really means a lot. I actually finished this story even before I uploaded the first chapter, so I will be updated every other day or so. Thanks again for reading, and keep the reviews coming. -Maddie)**

I convinced my grandmother to give me enough money for a plane ticket and a hotel for three weeks. If it's going to go the way I hope it will be going, I'll hopefully stay even longer. I actually shower. I go out and get groceries. I do laundry. I function like a normal human being.

I stay in a hotel room that's nicer and bigger than my apartment. It's about three miles away from the old Curtis household, the house I spent most of my time at when I was a teenager. That seems so long ago, but it really isn't. Sodapop's current house is about 12 miles South of his old house. The postcard got forwarded through the mail to his current address.

I didn't tell my parents I was back in Tulsa to visit. My grandmother thought that was a good idea. I guess they're still pretty upset about what happened. I remember my father screaming at me, telling me he didn't think that I was that kind of girl. My mother just kind of sat off to the side and cried, holding up a picture of me as a baby.

They never tried to send me letters like Sodapop did. When my Grandmother got the mail, she would give me a look and set a pile of letters on the table. He sent me a new letter every other day. I just sent them back to him.

It's about three in the afternoon when I decide to go over. I'm shaking almost as much as I was when I originally got the letter. I'm wearing a plain white blouse and a dark blue cardigan with a pair of high waisted jeans. I did my hair all nice, like I had it when we were together, up high in a ponytail, curled into lose waves. Sodapop would always tease me by yanking it while we were kissing. It would make him laugh.

I smile at the thought, lighting up a cigarette. I'm not supposed to smoke in the rental car, but if you were about to meet up with the one that got away after five years without seeing each other, would you really give a shit?

I park in his driveway. His house is nice. He must have found a well paying job with money. I smile before checking my face in the mirror, fixing my dark red lipstick.

I get out of the car, walk up the driveway, and ring the doorbell. I try to take deep breaths, but I can't. Every time I try to breathe, my breath catches, quick and painful. I can hear someone fumbling with the knob on the door for what seems like forever.

A woman about my age, maybe a year or two younger, answers the door. Her hair is a dark red, almost brown color, and it's feathered out like Farrah Faucet's. Freckles cover her entire face and she is relatively tan. She's dressed in a tank top and bell bottom jeans.

"Can I help you?" She asks, leaning against the door frame, snapping her gum at me.

"Yes, excuse me, but does Sodapop Curtis live here?" I ask, ringing my hands. I try to keep my voice steady.

The somewhat friendly expression on her face turns into pure hate and rage. "You're her," She hisses, her voice dripping with contempt. She shuts the door, and I hear her yelling Sodapop's name.

A few moments later, she opens the door again. She's biting the inside of her cheek, trying to keep a straight face. "Do come in," She tries to say politely. So I do, wiping my shoes on the mat.

And there he is.


	4. Chapter 4

He hasn't changed a bit. His boyishly handsome good looks were never lost. He still looks seventeen. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips, revealing a row of perfect white teeth. His hair is slicked back with hair oil, the way it always has been. He's wearing a grease-stained flannel shirt. My breath catches yet again, and I bite my lip.

"Sandy," He exhales, his eyes glistening. The voice that has haunted me all these years. That rough yet soothing voice. That twinge of an accent. It always makes you feel better. My muscles relax and I exhale.

I try to say something, but I just trip all over my words.

Sodapop clears his throat, breaking eye contact with me. Looking down, he moves down the stairs, putting his arm around the other woman. "Sandy, this is my wife."

Wife.

Right.

"Vivian," His wife holds out her hand and I take it, shaking it. It's cold and hard, just like the rest of her. "But I'd prefer you to call me Mrs. Curtis. Might I remind you, that's who I am. I am his wife. We're married."

"I... I'm Sandy," I say, stuttering, staring at Soda as he stares right back at me.

"I know," Vivian says. Suddenly, I hear someone crying, particularly a small child. "That would be Hallie." She says, rubbing her temples and running up the stairs.

Sodapop and I are left alone. He walks closer to me, slowly, as if he is the predator and I am the prey. I eye him, exhaling slowly. Our faces are inches away. He moves closer to me. Our lips linger just centimeters away from each other. I put my hands on his chest, pushing him back softly.

"Not here, not right now, not like this," I say slowly, closing my eyes. He steps away and nods.

"We need to talk," Sodapop says, his voice barely audible.

I nod.

"All that stuff you wrote in that letter. That was true?" There's a hint of pain in his voice, and I know what he's getting at.

I nod again, a lump in my throat forming.

"It was mine?" Soda is trying to keep his voice steady.

I nod once more.

"Sandy," He pleads.

I shake my head, putting my hands up, "Soda, please."

"I'm sorry," He says, his voice breaking on the last word. "I could have been there. I could have gone to Florida with you, or married you and stayed here. I wanted to be there."

"It's my fault," I shake my head. "Don't bring this on yourself. It was my decision. It's on me. You would have felt obligated. And I didn't want you to feel like that," I'm rambling, my words slurring together, "Because I knew I would still love you. And I knew you would get tired of me."

"But I do," Sodapop is crying now, actual tears stream down his face. He brushes them away with a shaking hand. "I love you now. I never stopped."

I smile sadly. "I wish, but it's a little late for that now."

"It's never too late. I have time. I've been waiting for five years already."

Suddenly, loud footsteps clammer down the stairs. In a split second, Vivian is even closer to me than to Sodapop. She towers over me.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are!" Vivian smiles, a nasty smile, not a genuine one, "Walking in here on me and my husband while our child is upstairs."

"I'm sorry," I feel so small.

"My husband. He's my husband. He's your ex who you were dumb enough to get knocked up by. That's not my problem."

"Viv," Soda pleads with her, grabbing her arm.

"No." She turns around, jamming her finger in his face. She turns back to me, "You're burning in hell anyway, you fucking baby killer."

That hurts. I let myself wince as she turns back to Sodapop.

"You think I'm dumb? You think I don't know what's going on here? I know exactly what's going on."

She turns back to me again, and there's a hint of pain in her eyes. Are those... tears? She's crying. "I love him," Vivian's voice shakes, "I know you could give two shits about him, but I love that man."

I look away, uncomfortable, but her hands clasp the side of my face and she pulls me closer to her. Our noses are touching.

"You know what he said to me on our wedding night?" Vivian continues, sniffling, "He said, 'Viv, I love you. But I want you to know that if she comes back, I don't know what I'll do.' He said that to me. I've been dreading this moment for five years."

I don't know what to say to her, but I feel terrible.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice breaking. Dead silence. What else am I supposed to say? "I'll... I'll go."

I back out of the house, running out to my car. I can hear Sodapop running after me.

I sit in the driver's seat, my face buried in my hands. Shame and guilt wash over me. Sodapop is tapping on the window. I can hear his muffled yells. "Sandy, please! Don't leave me again! Please!"

I can't look at him. I start the car and back out of the driveway.


	5. Chapter 5

I get back to my hotel, practically collapsing on the bed.

I don't know exactly how to feel. I still love him, I'm positive of that. But can I tear apart a family like that? He has a child, I heard her upstairs crying. She couldn't have been older than five. She would never know what it's like to have a family.

But I need to think about myself. How will this affect me when I go back to Florida, without him?

No, that's the exact opposite of what I need to do. I need to stop thinking about myself. I need to take other people's feelings into consideration for once.

The phone on my nightstand rings. I pick it up reluctantly, "Hello?"

"Sandy." It's him. I go dizzy, a smile spreading across my face. No. No, I'm not letting this happen.

"How did you get this number?" I say defensively, crossing my arms, the phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder.

"You dropped your purse when you... when you ran out."

Now he has a reason to see me. No matter what I do, I have to see him before I leave again.

There's a long pause before he says, "So can I come give it to you?"

I nod, my eyes screwed shut tightly. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you have to."

"I love you, Sandy." He says quickly. I can practically feel him shaking on the other end of the phone, "I've never stopped."

"We'll talk when you get here," I say coldly.

Within twenty minutes, there's a knock at the door. I get up, stopping in the bathroom before I answer, fixing my hair quickly. Why am I trying to look nice for him? I need to get that out of my head. I'm not getting back together with him. He is taken.

I open the door, and there he is yet again. I'll never get tired of it, seeing his face. There he is, the man I had been waiting for for five years.

Then it happens. I break down. Collapsing into his chest, I begin sobbing.

It's amazing how weak I am, how weak this man can make me feel. I forget that I'm not supposed to feel this way about him as I curl into his chest, my fingers tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

"Hey... hey..." Sodapop says softly, hugging me closer to him as he moves to set me on the bed. He sits down next to me, still holding me.

"I can't act like I don't care anymore because I do," I stumble over my words, pulling myself away from him, "I love you and I miss and I have for the past five years. I'm sorry I aborted our child. I'm sorry I lied to you and told you it wasn't yours. It seemed like the best idea at the time but it wasn't."

Soda sits there, looking at me with such compassion and understanding that I can't help but sob even harder. But he quiets me by pressing his lips against mine, his hands holding the sides of my face. A sound escapes the back of my throat, a kind of choked sob.

At first, it's a kind of friendly kiss, comforting. A quick one. But I stay for more, and so does he. Soon, our hands are running up and down each other, as if we're trying to remember what the other one feels like. This might never happen again. We may never get this again. I whimper helplessly as his shaking hands brush over places that I haven't been touched since I were seventeen.

It's the first time I've been kissed in five years. I try to remember the last kiss I had.

It was with Sodapop. We were making chocolate cake because Darry was too sick with the flu to even get up. He smudged some batter on my face, particularly my nose. I remember hitting him playfully. He grabbed me by the arms and pulled me close to him, kissing the batter off of my nose. I kissed him back on the mouth. That was three days before I left for Florida.

And now, being back with him and kissing him again, feels so right.

I wake up the next morning, my head on Sodapop's chest. My legs are intertwined with his, one arm under his neck and the other resting on his chest. I look up at him. He's so precious when he sleeps, so peaceful. I smile, resting my head on his chest.

"What time is it?" Soda grumbles, his voice husky with sleep.

I turn to the clock, "About six in the morning."

"Shit," He says sharply, jumping up out of the bed, already pulling on his jeans. "I should get home before Vivian wakes up."

"She... She doesn't know you're here?"

Soda shakes his head slowly.

I sit up, slipping on my shirt that was thrown on the floor at some point last night. I move over closer to him, kneeling on the edge of the bed, kissing his bare shoulders.

"You're coming back later, right?" I say, worriedly.

"I couldn't stay away even if I wanted to," Soda smirks, standing up and buttoning up his shirt that's now wrinkled from spending the night on the floor.

We decide to meet at a diner tonight, and then we'll continue the evening in my room once again. I ask him if he's going to tell Vivian and he shakes his head yet again.

"She's knows, though," Soda says sadly, "I know she knows. And I know she's not stupid enough to stay with me. But it will take a while. You know, it will take a while for her to leave me. And I owe her enough to give her time."

There's a sudden hint of pain in his eyes, and he looks down at his hands. I notice he doesn't have his wedding ring on.

"I've been a really bad person to her," He continues, "But I want you to know, that I will never do anything to hurt you. I promise you, Sandy, never. I never loved Vivian as much as you, she was always second best, and I know that's horrible to say, but it's true. I'll never be able to love anybody like I love you."

I look up at him, smiling sweetly, not knowing what else to say. He looks back at me, his hair dangling in front of his eyes. Soda kisses me once more, a long kiss, a kiss that has to last us the rest of the day, and leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

**(A short, but rather important chapter. I hope it isn't terribly cliched. Thanks again for the reviews, follows, and favorites. Only a few more chapters left!)**

The next two weeks I spend in his arms. It's a routine. We wake up entangled together, he leaves for work or to get home before Vivian can realize that he's gone, we meet for dinner, he comes back to my hotel. It's dysfunctional and slightly messed up, but it works.

Sodapop tells me one evening that Vivian knows, and that she wants a divorce. The only catch is that she wants to wait until Hallie gets into college and is out of the house. She wants Hallie to have a family.

It's not ideal, but it will have to work.

One morning, things end up differently.

I wake up to the room spinning, my stomach feeling like it's turning inside out. I blink rapidly, but the room is still spinning. I'm feeling worse, my throat burning. I run to the toilet.

I dry heave violently, nothing coming out, and I begin to cry. I always cry when I vomit. I feel hands running through my hair, holding it up. And then I throw up. A horrible shock of green-yellow in the porcelain toilet. I vomit again, and again. Sodapop rubs my back, comforting me with sweet words.

I lay down on the bathroom floor for a few minutes, my sweat dripping on the cool tile.

"Maybe you ate something bad?" Soda suggests.

"No..." I shake my head. "I've never been this sick before..." I begin to think.

Could I be?

No.

Well, the first symptom I had with...

No, no.

Forget it.

It's almost as if Sodapop can hear my thoughts. He stares at me, "Are you... could you be...?"

"No... I mean... We..." I stutter, looking up at him with urgency.

"Are you on birth control?"

I shake my head. I didn't have any need for birth control, I had been waiting for him for five years.

"And we didn't use anything..."

I shake my head again. "How many days has I been since I've got here?"

"Fifteen days," Soda says, not even thinking.

My mouth opens, but I slam it back closed again, biting my bottom lip. I grind my teeth hard.

"What?" He asks. "Sandy?"

I look up at him, tears staining my eyes. "My period is four days late."


	7. Chapter 7

**(Two more chapters left after this!)**

A look crosses Soda's face that I've never seen before. It looks like he wants to be happy, but he can't. It's a sad, worried, slightly angry sort of happy. He purses his lips, looking down at the floor. It looks as if he's hiding a smile.

"Is this a good thing or a bad thing?" I whisper, looking up at him.

"I don't know," Soda says, that look still on his face.

So I take a test after driving to the local grocery store and picking one up. Just as I expected, a little pink plus sign appears after three very long minutes.

"It could be defective," I say softly, holding it far away and then close again, thinking I'm seeing something wrong.

"No. The almighty pregnancy test has spoken," Sodapop holds back a laugh.

"This isn't a laughing matter."

"Yeah, but it isn't the end of the world either."

"What are we going to say to your wife?" I turn to him, suddenly defensive. "What am I going to do? Wait for you for another couple of years?"

Soda's face turns hard and he looks away from me. "I don't know, Sandy."

"I want to go home," My voice cracks, "I want to go home to Florida with you. I want to be with you. I'm not staying in this shitty hotel, waiting for fifteen years."

"What do you want me to say to you?" Sodapop says, "That it will all be peaches? That everything would work out? What did you expect? You broke my heart, and I tried to move on. You were the one who left, Sandy."

"You'll never understand how hard that was for me." I say to him, my voice raising too.

We look at each other for a few moments.

"We'll figure it out later," Soda smiles at me calmly. "I'll come over around seven, okay? Late shift tonight."

I nod at him, and he kisses me on the forehead.

"No matter what happens, I love you," The corners of his eyes crinkle, "I always have and I always will. We'll get through this together."

I peck his lips quickly and he leaves.

I had finally gotten what I wanted.

I should have known something would go wrong.


	8. Chapter 8

It's around six thirty when I'm getting ready for him, putting on my best blouse. He told me we were going somewhere nice tonight to celebrate. Curling my hair, I hear the phone ring.

I run out to the main room, humming softly. Picking up the phone, I answer, "Hello?"

"Hello, is Sandy Curtis there?" An official-sounding male's voice says on the other end.

I smile a little when he says what he thinks is my last name. "Speaking."

There's a few moments of silence. Uncomfortable, melancholy silence. I know something is wrong. I can feel this sick, horrible feeling of hopelessness before I'm even told what happened.

"I'm afraid there's been an accident..."

He tells me what's happened.

I drop the phone on the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

I don't like to think I killed him, but there's that little part of me that blames myself every day for it. On good days, I can convince myself that it was a simple accident. But on bad days, I stare at the bottle and try not to.

It was a drunk driver. Sodapop was five miles away from my hotel when a drunk driver swerved and hit him. They said that he died instantly.

I flew back to Florida that night.

Nine months later, I had a baby girl. I named her Scarlett, after the lead in Gone With The Wind, Johnny's favorite book. I know It's what Sodapop would have liked.

I finally bought a house, and I'm trying to move on. I know it's what he would have wanted for Scarlett and me.

From what I last heard, Vivian got remarried and had a second child. A few months after I returned to Florida, she sent me a post card apologizing. She told me that it wasn't my fault, that it was hers for choosing to be with someone that she knew wasn't fully invested. Since then, we've kept up regular contact. I'm visiting her in Tulsa soon.

I wish I could move on as easily as she had, but I just can't. As cliched as it sounds, Sodapop and I were, and still are, soul mates. There's no one else for me. As hard as I'll try to move on, it won't ever work. And I'm okay with that.

I wonder constantly why it happened right then. Right at that moment.

I had just got him back and he was ripped away from me again.

But I can't think about that. I need to think about how nice it was to see him again, to have some closure.

Now it's a good thing that I get to see a little piece of him every day. Good memories are brought back when I look at her.

In a sense, I am still waiting for him. I'm waiting to see him again in the afterlife. Then, I will be truly happy. And it will be worth it. All of it will be worth it.

I've waited this long already.

**(Thank you all so much for your reviews, follows, and favorites over the course of this! It really meant a lot for it being my first full, complete story. I've had a few ideas for a sequel, but I don't know if I should actually write one. What do you guys think? Once again, thank you for everything, and stay tuned for future stories! Much Love, Maddie)**


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